


King of Santas

by panda_shi



Series: Chronicles of the Royal Magnum Dong [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Ambitious But Rubbish, Big Dongs, Bottom Yamato | Tenzou, Christmas Party, Funny, Humor, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Objectification, Post-Naruto Time Skip | Naruto Shippuden, Sexual Roleplay, Sexy Santa, Sweet, Tenzou is thicc, Top Umino Iruka, Why Did I Write This?, Yamato | Tenzou is a beast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28283277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_shi/pseuds/panda_shi
Summary: Tenzou's name gets pulled out to be Santa of the night. Except he has a problem with the costume. His dick is not going to fit in the jockstrap-bikini! Why does this always happen to him?!
Relationships: Umino Iruka/Yamato | Tenzou
Series: Chronicles of the Royal Magnum Dong [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2071551
Comments: 12
Kudos: 52





	1. Let's get naughty, naughty, dirty, dirty!

**Author's Note:**

> Self beta'd.
> 
> Gai is not on a wheelchair. He's better and can walk in my book, sorry canon. I reject. Gai deserves better.

It will be fun, Iruka had said.

The Torture and Interrogation unit throws the _best_ annual Christmas party in all of Konoha, Iruka had said.

It’s going to be a fun filled night, Iruka had said.

You have to attend it at least _once_ , Iruka had said.

When Tenzou had declared that he’s never been to the well known annual Christmas party that gets hosted in the depths of Torture and Interrogation, Iruka had stared at him in an almost judging manner. Which is how Tenzou had found himself stepping into a repurposed reception, all the furniture tucked away, where the meeting room doors had gone missing to expand the party space and right there, in the middle of it all, is a large velvet one seater chair, in garish green surrounded by an equally garish gold plastic boa to give it a sense of royalty. A background of a sleigh and a night sky has been erected behind the chair for the purpose of photography. There are exaggeratedly large boxes wrapped in bright colored paper and giant bows stacked on either side of Santa’s throne.

From the ceiling, Tenzou notices, are seals. Seals that prevents shunshins and jutsus from going off because drunk ninjas tend to lose their inhibitions. It’s a safety measure, tucked under the disguise of glossy balloons and star cut outs that they seemed to have made the students at the academy do, judging from the uneven edges. Tenzou knows that the security for the party is tight. ANBU and Hunters who had been unfortunately voted to stand on guard around the Torture and Interrogation perimeter had been a cause of Tenzou’s headache because no one wanted to _miss_ the party, apparently. Compromises had to be made, however. 

All around the room, bodies are mingling, some dancing with questionable-by-society moves (Tenzou finds himself _staring_ at who he _knows_ is Badger, already rolling his hips and holding up a glass of punch to the ceiling), and some already tipping colored shots. In the center, right in front of the empty Santa throne, peopled pulsed with the loud music as if they were dancing on the northern lights; under the dry-ice smoke that suspiciously smells of candy-cane, swirls of acid greens, white hot, and chilli red lights flashes amidst the curls of gold yellow light. The festive beats playing continues to pulse and thump out of the subwoofers wired to the ceiling, making Tenzou look up and follow the intricate wirings that all connects to the DJ’s table in the far corner, set up on a makeshift stage where Ibiki stands proud, keeping watch of his good work all around, a santa hat perched in lieu of his usual bandana-forehead protector, dressed in what looks like a dark maroon trench coat as opposed to his usual the standard dark gray uniform.

Tenzou finds himself just lingering by the entrance, trying to digest the sight of Ibiki in a santa hat, as people continued to pour in, dressed in all manners of themed outfits; elf, reindeer, snowman, Christmas tree, the north star and all manners of reds and greens. Someone walks by in what looks like a white furlined red bikini and Tenzou has to pointedly _not stare_ because apparently, this seems normal. Someone in the middle of the dancefloor _rips_ open their elf jacket, roaring drunkenly at the ceiling that makes everyone around the said shinobi _hoot_ in rambunctious cheer, as that man proceeds to dab and flex his pectorals, drops to a squat and then proceeds to twerk.

Ibiki _grins_ at this, holding out what looks like a flute of champagne to the person who promptly seems to start a twerk line because suddenly, _everyone_ is twerking on the dancefloor, as the DJ matches the move of buttocks with the bass pumping out of the speakers.

Right.

This is… not a place Tenzou thinks he should be in.

And to think he’s supposed to wait for Iruka amidst this incredibly display of out right not-giving-a-fuck.

From one of the corners of the room, Tenzou sees someone turn on the fake-snow machine, which proceeds to blow fine Styrofoam at the people twerking on the dancefloor.

Tenzou takes one cautious step backwards and another, and another until he bypasses the doorframe of the main entrance leading to all this _crazy_ before promptly bumping into Genma who is busy collecting names into a santa hat.

“Oh hey, you made it! I didn’t get your name in yet, Yamato. Let me put it in! Ibiki will draw a name later on who gets to be Santa for the night. There’s a prize too.”

“Ah, no, Genma, I don’t need to be entered. I was just—“ Tenzou uselessly says, as he watches his name get dropped into the hat.

Well then.

“Bah, don’t worry. There are over a hundred of people in here. You’re not gonna get picked for the costume.” Genma claps a hand over Tenzou’s green t-shirt sleeve, pushing him further into the party. “Oh try the eggnog. It’s my recipe!”

“Right…” Tenzou responds weakly, pointedly circling around the dancefloor to avoid all the bubble donks that are now vibrating and jiggling at an abnormal pace to the beat of the music. How have they not collapsed from the pain of a disk hernia yet?

Tenzou finds a small, seemingly peaceful shadowed corner by the buffet table, right next to the punch bowl that he makes a bee-line towards, managing to evade being brushed by body parts, nodding and hoping that his face didn’t looked too pinched when he responds to all the greetings from familiar faces, because really, he wouldn’t be too surprised if he looked like he was trying to contain a massive fart.

No wonder Torture and Interrogation had a reputation.

This party is utterly ridiculous.

*

Tenzou honestly debates crawling under the red table cloth of the buffet table, which doesn’t smell very pleasant when fried food and sugary goods are mixing nauseatingly with the scented dry-ice smoke. It’s a great spread of finger foods, all sorts of crispy things and dips, at least fifteen different cookies in all manners of shape and color, cakes, cupcakes, soda cans, beer cans, and gods, did no one even think of just having those mini water bottles? Tenzou spots _one_ measly bowl of salad, something that no one has touched because who in their right mind would want to eat like a rabbit in a setting like this?

Tenzou is starting to feel a little awkward standing there next to an ice sculpture of an elf with a big dick, like he’s an ice statue too because he hasn’t moved since he found this safe perch, simply standing there with a disposable cup in his hand filled with Genma’s eggnog that he hasn’t at all touched because one sip was all he needed to know just how _strong_ the alcohol content is and he, as he looks at the line of gyrating bodies on the dancefloor, does not want to be drunk enough and be a part of _that_.

No way!

The music and cheer is so loud that it leaves Tenzou’s skin tingling, his lungs feeling like utter mush. The bass continues to thump in time with his heartbeat as though they were one, filling his entire physique with music that is not even his type, but oh well.

Somewhere over the haze of the music and raucous cheer, hazy chatter can be heard. Tenzou has given up trying to make out the words, not when the laughter tends to overshadow the words.

Where the hell is Iruka?

Someone walks by handing out elf hats, a chuunin that Tenzou recognizes as Bekko, who stops by in front of him, _frowns_ , eyes him from head to toe and _judges_. Tenzou knows that his dark denims and olive green t-shirt isn’t a festive costume per se, but he is at least in green. Iruka had told him to wear something green. And it’s a new t-shirt too!

Bekko _harrumphs,_ thrusts an elf hat in Tenzou’s direction and waits for him to put it on.

Which Tenzou does, obediently, seemingly satisfying Bekko’s judgemental look who then hobbles on and proceeds to bully people without hats with his silent gaze.

Tenzou swallows dryly, picking up his plastic up again only to set it down when a burly man in a snow man costume that Tenzou has to _squint_ and realize is one of Iruka’s colleagues at the academy, booms through the microphone.

“All right is everyone having a good time?” Daikoku Funeno asks, something that is met with a chorus of deafening yeses. “Fantastic! Well we’re about to pick our Santa for the night! Don’t forget that pictures can be taken with santa at the fee of one hundred ryos per picture! All proceeds will go to the cost of your drinks and food! You all ready to get a santa or what?” The _roaring_ cheer makes Tenzou wince. “Okay then! Ibiki-san, if you would please~!”

Ibiki sets his champage glass that seems to magically refill itself down on the DJ’s table, taking the large offered Santa’s hat from Daikoku where he proceeds to swirl his hand into the depths of it, nodding to each beating clap of the crowd that chants _santa, santa, santa_. A hush falls when Ibiki pulls out a piece of paper unfolds it, _smirks_ and hand it to Daikoku.

That smirk turns to outright devilish grin, scary even, as Ibiki picks up his champagne glass and takes a poised sip of it.

“And your Santa for the night is, _Yamato-san!_ ” Daikoku announces.

The spot light suddenly is on Tenzou, as all eyes in the room seems to _snap_ in his direction (how the hell did the light person find him in this crowd?!), just as quick as his jaw seems to hit the ground. Panic and anxiety starts to curdle in his blood like poison, as Tenzou looks left and right at the grinning faces and cheering smiles before he sees Genma and Raidou appear right infront of him, both of them taking him by the arm and dragging him across the crowd towards a small changing room as if he were a prisoner, their grips a tight vice, leaving behind the constant, almost patriotic chant of _Yamato, Yamato, Yamato_.

“You said they wouldn’t pick my name!” Tenzou _wheezes_.

“I said the odds were low,” Genma corrects.

“No you didn’t!” Tenzou _squeaks_. “I am not Santa material! Let go!”

“Don’t be a spoil sport! No kill joys allowed! That was the condition upon entry! And don’t worry! We will _make_ you Santa.” Genma simples says, uncaring as they push Tenzou into the room.

“The chair is really comfortable.” Raidou assures.

Tenzou almost screams, _that is not the point!_

*

“No.” Tenzou resolutely, absolutely says, crossing his arms, standing his ground, refusing to be cowed when his entire digestive tract is busy going on a contained epileptic fit. “No!”

Genma rolls his eyes and proceeds to thrust the santa costume hanging from a hanger in his direction, while Raidou holds onto a pair of knee high black vinyl boots. Something Tenzou tries to dodge like it’s plagued by a deadly virus by taking several steps back until he finds himself cornered against a wall painted with a containment seal. Much to his chagrin, he realizes, that the changing room is actually a repurposed prison holding cell . His senses must be completely fried because how did he not notice this before?

“Is this your first time at the party?” Raidou asks, genuinely curious.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Tenzou demands, eyeing the offending monstrosity that he has absolutely no desire to wear whatsoever.

“Everything, actually,” Raidou snorts, shaking his head before he gestures to the costume with a hand.

“I am _not_ putting that on!” Tenzou says, eyeing the crotch piece that is a very, _very_ poor excuse for _pants_ , not when it’s practically a thong.

Genma twists his lips in mild irritation. “If Ibiki can be santa and put on booty shorts, you can put this on. Shut up and strip, Yamato, before the crowd charges in and you’re going to have to pay for structural damages.”

“No way – wait, they would do _that_? They can't do that!” Tenzou gasps, jaw dropping wide open he swears it’s already been disconnected from his skull.

“What year was it?” Genma asks Raidou.

“I think, seven years ago? Was it Shikaku?” Raidou answers, rubbing the back of his head.

“No, it was Chouza-sensei.” Genma corrects. “He didn’t want to do it in fear of his wife and ended up paying structural damages for taking too long to change over the course of the next two years. Damn.” Genma snorts. “His wife had argued that he should have just put on the costume. It was tough time in their marriage."

“Was it a thong?” Tenzou sarcastically asks, pointedly glaring.

“Yup, and really, be grateful. This isn’t a thong. It’s customised. Bikini coverage from the back, jockstrap on the front. Your precious apple bottom is covered.” Genma jiggles the costume at Tenzou’s direction. “Take it or I’m getting Ibiki.”

Tenzou genuinely starts turning numbers in his head as he stares at the offending bikini-jockstrap dangling from the neck of the hanger. He calculates that if he goes on at least two s-ranked mission in a month, he should be able to cover structural damage in less than a year and a half. If he also supplements it with a few A-ranks, he should be able to bring it down to a year and a month, maybe two. That’s assuming he doesn’t get benched for chakra exhaustion or an injury, that is.

He’s going to go celibate for that duration, which isn’t very hard considering he’s done it before. Sort of. Prior to Iruka, he has avoided putting his tan banana in any sort of precarious situations that may involve trips to the emergency rooms. Like ripping someone’s vocal chords out. Or having someone develop haemorrhoids due to his pleasure pump’s induced trauma.

Iruka is not going to be happy.

Not because his creamy éclair isn’t going to be unavailable but because it would mean Tenzou would be almost permanently gone just to pay his debts for the course of the year. Or more.

And they’ve only been together for five months.

Five months that has been, hands down, the best days of Tenzou’s life.

He did not want to ruin that.

Not so soon.

With his pride pretty much going down past the cracks of the tiled floor, Tenzou twitchily reaches out like he’s got Parkinson’s disease for the hanger, turning a little green around the gills. The roguish, almost creepy grins Raidou and Genma flashes at him nearly makes him convulse with a seizure.

“Turn around,” Tenzou grouches, reaching for the hem of his shirt, squashing down the urge to pee, poop, fart and vomit all that the same time.

Raidou and Genma gives him another eye roll but listens, thank goodness.

*

Which proves to be utterly useless after Tenzou strips and folds his clothes, now donning the red, furlined collar, hem and sleeves santa coat and vinyl boots. Because right now, Tenzou is fussing with his lap rocket, trying to stuff as much of his length into the also matching furlined red jockstrap front of his ‘pants’. Tenzou grunts when he tries tuck as much of his ham meat, maneuvering it a bit to the left and then the right and then giving up everytime his fucking balls slip out from the furred edge.

It doesn’t fit.

Of course it doesn’t fucking fit.

This damn costume is made for people with _normal_ knobgoblins.

Tenzou can already feel the flush of embarrassment and humiliation paint down the length of his body as he tries again, jiggling a few times, as if shaking his entire frank and beans into the confines of the jockstrap sack or whatever the fuck one calls this damn thing would fit everything into it. It doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t. Tenzou may have found the mental and physical strength to put the costume on but he doesn’t think he can muster up the courage to step out in front of hundreds of people with parts of his cocktapus hanging out.

He’s not _that_ strong.

“It’s just underwear,” Genma unhelpfully supplies.

“Could you perhaps just shut your mouth for a minute,” Tenzou grits out, trying once more to stuff his clam hammer into the jockstrap to only have it slip outwards like a slippery sausage and for him to throw his arms up in surrender. “Look, do you have something bigger? This doesn’t fit.”

Tenzou hears two snorts and braces himself, caution thrown to the wind because he’s been trying to slip into the damn thing with utter failure for the past ten minutes; it is just not working. Turning around, the snorts immediately gets turned to deadly silence. Raidou looks like he’s seeing the dead rise from the living. Genma actually covers his mouth as he rubs his chin, studying the situation around Tenzou’s crotch like he’s memorizing the map terrain of enemy territory.

“Yeah, uh, I think we really need to get Ibiki,” Genma just says, clearing his throat as a bit of pink starts to dust over his cheeks.

“I’ll go get him,” Raidou mutters, snapping his gaze away so fast that it’s a miracle he didn’t get whiplash.

*

Ibiki, for the most part, remains perfectly placid faced.

Even when he gestures with his hand at Tenzou to hand over the jockstrap-bikini, which Tenzou does, covering himself with the coat that he holds onto like a lifeline. He watches, mutely, while Raidou simply studies his drink and Genma picks at a hangnail on his finger, as Ibiki pulls a small pocket sewing kit from the inner pocket of his red coat, along with a folded piece of red fabric that suspiciously matches the fabric of the jockstrap-bikini. Tenzou watches, with his jaw hitting the ground for the umpteenth time, ready to catch all sorts of insects, as Ibiki simply starts adjusting the front half of the ‘pants’, deft, long, scarred fingers working very quick in undoing the stiches that held the fur in place, extending the length of the jockstrap by several inches with the extra fabric he had pulled out from gods knows where – does he randomly keep pieces of fabric conveniently in his kitchen-sink of a coat?

Tenzou watches, with trepidation and helplessness, as Ibiki reattaches and sews the fur back in place, snips the white thread with a small pair of pocket sized scissors, tucks his sewing kit away and then hands the jockstrap-bikini back.

“Don’t dawdle,” Ibiki mutters, as he picks up his umpteenth champagne flute for the night, turns with a bit of a swish of his coat and exits the room with a firm click of the door.

Tenzou is pretty sure he _outranks_ Ibiki.

But all he can do is stare at the jockstrap-bikini in his hands, wonder why, why, why, did he agree to come to this party when he could have just been part of the ANBU roster for security.

(Oh right, he had said yes while Iruka was riding his mutton dagger last week, bouncing enthusiastically on his lap, saying all kinds of dirty, lewd high praises about how good he is, how big he is, how amazing he is.)

Iruka also said he’s coming in elf tights. Tenzou had seen those tights. Green and red stripes. Looked a little ostentatious in terms of quality but Tenzou didn’t want his lover’s cute derrier being the center of attention in _those_ tights. Not on his damn watch.

Right.

Sighing, Tenzou slips on the offensive thing, which now manages to house the entire length of his ass opener, and turns to face Genma and Raidou who, thank heavens, are smart enough to not say a damn, fucking word.

“What do I have to do?”

“Okay, so, Nara Miyaki is going to perform the shadow technique for the opening dance number—“ Raidou gets cut off by Tenzou promptly having cardiac arrest on the spot.

“The _what_?” Tenzou _chokes_.

“Relax, it’s exactly two minutes and thirty two seconds—“ Genma waves a hand.

If someone asks Tenzou what it feels like to suffer from collapsed lungs, he is pretty confident that he can describe exactly how that must feel considering his chest is refusing to cooperate and turn oxygen into carbon dioxide. “T-Two minutes and t-thirty-two—“

“Liquid courage?” Raidou helpfully offers, handing a new, still sealed full bottle of whiskey.

Tenzou takes the bottle, breaks the seal, uncaps the bottle and takes several chugs of it, turning a blind eye when Genma tries to stop him, when Raidou says, _oi, not so much, slow down_ , as everything in him continues to spin wildly at what is about to happen. Tenzou pulls the bottle of his lips with a loud, _haa_ , hands it shakily back to Raidou who takes it away immediately, as Tenzou shakes his head, slaps his cheeks a few times and shakes off his arms to loosen up.

“That’s my man!” Genma claps him on the shoulder, opens the door where the cheer suddenly comes slapping Tenzou in the face like cold winter winds in the Snow’s barren tundra, and says, “Go get them, big guy!”


	2. Maybe we can start a little fire tonight! Pull the shades, lock the door!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta'd.
> 
> If you want to know how I picture Kakashi's wheezy laughs, then [watch this chewbacca mom video and you'll get the idea.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y3yRv5Jg5TI) Enjoy!

The moment Tenzou steps outside, the entire room turns pitch black.

He is dragged back into the room however, by Genma’s firm hand where he proceeds to attach something to the waist band of his jackstrap-bikini, something that looks like a battery powered device, the size of a small coin that Tenzou openly frowns at. Tenzou flinches when Raidou also slips on a santa hat over his head, adjusts the fur hem over his hair and nods, like his handiwork is complete.

“Forgot about that, sorry, okay go! Go! Take him!” Genma gives Tenzou a bit of a push towards Nara Miyaki.

Miyaki, who quickly ushers Tenzou to the center of the dancefloor, the spotlight turning on as sure enough, Miyaki activates the shadow binding technique, linking Tenzou’s shadow with his own. Miyaki winks in Tenzou’s direction, dressed as a naughty elf, much like the five other elves serving as Tenzou’s back up dancers, all of them a mixed bag of jounin and chuunin men and women, showing far too much skin to be comfortable in public, but nowhere near as obscene as Tenzou’s costume.

Which isn’t fair, Tenzou thinks. Not fucking fair at all!

The music begins dramatically, as dry-ice starts to fill the space, collective gasps and cat whistles filling the main gathering hall slash previously-an-office-reception; Tenzou can feel their eyes raking down his body, can feel the heat of embarrassment brush him from head to toe, as red as the stupid santa coat he’s wearing, his face _burning_ with utter shame as he stands and suddenly _moves_ to turn to the side, his buttock sticking out like a harlot tempting customers for the evening, his chin tilted to the ceiling, one arm out.

The beat of the music starts to thump, his fingers snapping in sync to that thump and what follows next makes Tenzou’s soul start to decompose prematurely, his entire body going into an internal state of shock, epilepsy and some sort of seizure because his body is not meant to move like this! It isn’t meant to, what the flying fuck, who even came up with this choreography?!

Slapping on the scariest, most extreme level of a ghoul expression Tenzou can muster, he succumbs to the dance number without any willpower to resist. Tenzou _swears_ he’s dead. He can’t be alive.

Because his feet suddenly step outwards, parted wide open, boots tipped at forty five degrees, before he squats down and up, down and up, slow and sultry to the beat of the music. He slides to the left, wiggles his butt, then slides to the right, punctuating that with a butt wiggle. His arms spread wide open, then comes to the top of his head like he’s preparing to dive into the river, only for them to come back down to the side where his feet criss-crosses, criss-cross, jumps wide and then, there, right there, he’s in a squat only meant for the bedroom, his palms coming down to slap very, very loudly upon his inner thighs.

The crowd is _roaring._

And that’s when Tenzou notices it.

The tip of his meat skewer is _illuminated_.

Like a fucking ornament.

The light seems to come on and flash in sync with Tenzou’s movement. Tenzou watches, with _horror_ , his jaw wide open, his hands crossed behind his back as the next dance move makes him hip thrust, hip thrust, hip thrust to the left, then hip thrust, hip thrust, hip thrust to the right. Then he’s _rolling_ his hips, rolling, rolling, rolling, fucking still rolling, why are there far too many hip rolls in this unflattering dance number?

A man should never, ever be put in a position where he is helplessly watching his love dart just flip flop uselessly from side to side like a very long sausage being dangled in front of hungry predators, clad in cheap red material that isn’t at all velvet, and lined with fur.

And then he’s rolling his fucking hips again, jumping to turn the other way around, giving the masses his ass and bending over, one hand on the floor, and shaking said ass at the crowd that has gone absolutely _wild_ with _screams._

Tenzou starts to panic because if he continues wiggling like this, one of his balls is going to pop out of his jockstrap-bikini – who, _who_ in their right mind decided it was a brilliantly intelligent idea to wear this kind of clothes for _this_ kind of _dance_? Where can he find them? Would it be treason to kill them, too?

Oh gods, he’s going to be sick.

Oh gods, his dick is now illuminated like a goddamn disco ball – a disco stick! A plethora of flashing red, green and gold lights, the entire length of it.

Tenzou wants to _cry_.

And just when he thinks it can’t get any worse, he is coming down to the ground, spinning on his arms and feet to the right, bringing his feet forward and thrusting up and down, up and down into the air with his feet and shoulder blades firmly planted on the ground.

He is then leaping up to his feet, landing on an open crouch and bouncing side to side, standing up in a semi crouch, fists balled by his chest, arms pumping as his hips and ass proceeds to pump and twerk in sync with the bass thumps. Over and over, and over again.

Tenzou _swears_ his spine is out of alignment at this point.

He swears he’s walking away from this entire fiasco with a spinal injury.

Two minutes and thirty-two seconds does not feel like two minutes and thirty-two seconds. It feels like a fucking lifetime.

The dance number finally ends with Tenzou popping his knees open and close three times, his ass sticking out, his chest tilted forward in what is meant to be a sultry pose, with his finger pointed at his lips.

As the crowd _roars_ with an ovation Tenzou’s back up dances seems to bask and soak in, Tenzou finds himself staring at the crowd with little to no breath in his lungs, at their crazy faces, at – oh no – Gai’s roaring with laughter and enthusiastic whistles and thumbs-up sign, at – oh _hell no –_ Kakashi’s gleeful, perverse-gleam-in-his-eyes very hard applaud and right there, is Iruka.

Iruka who is in tights that he has no business wearing at all. In public. Who looks great in them, by the way, shapely, toned, lean long legs defined in stripes of green and red, a cotton green tunic with golded decorative fuzz balls down the middle acting as ‘buttons’, his feet encased in red boots. Iruka who is staring mutely, just like Izumo and Kotetsu who are dressed in the exact same elf costume, their jaws hanging open while Iruka covers his mouth to hide his shock.

(Gosh, Iruka such a cute elf! The best elf! His lovely ass are perfect globes in those tights! Tenzou wants nothing more but to cut a hole in those tights and fuck him with them on.)

Tenzou opens his mouth to say something, to mouth an apology, a cry for help.

But then he’s being _whisked_ away once the spotlight dims, escorted towards Santa’s throne, where he is unceremoniously dumped, planted, arranged. Someone dabs at the sweat on his temple, someone arranges his hat and then suddenly, the light is on again, shining bright and white on Tenzou, who shields his eyes from the said spotlight, nearly leaping out of the chair when Daikoku appears out of nowhere and booms into the mic.

“What a number! Can we get a round of applause for our santa of the night and his elves?” Daikoku asks, the entire room erupting into simultaneous cheers, hoots and a deafening applaud. “Let this be your sign that Santa is now open for business for you to take a photo with for only one hundred ryos per picture! The queue will start over there~”

Tenzou’s gaze tracks over the direction Daikoku is pointing at, where sure enough, two chuunins dressed as reindeers waves, ringing bells and holding out what looks like a pot for collecting money. Daikoku then introduces the photographer with an instant-print camera who is dressed like a snowman as Tenzou watches, with horror and trepidation as the _entire_ room starts to fall into line.

Daikoku says something about order and not to push, to be respectful while seated on Tenzou’s lap, and that Santa will be there to listen to all their wishes and take photos, and that the main course of that night’s dinner is now being served.

Tenzou can only _sigh_ , planting his face behind a hand and wonders, for the umpteenth time, why the _hell_ did he just not sign up for that stupid perimeter guard-watch.

*

The first warm rump to make itself known on Santa’s lap is Anko. She is grinning a little too wildly, widely and right at Tenzou’s face that he can smell the fruity punch she must have been drinking, when she says, “Hello~ I’d like a huge snake for Christmas, please, Santa-san~”

Tenzou _twitches_.

Anko doesn’t even hide the fact that she’s interested in his trouser snake, which as it is, is lying bulged around his thigh like a fucking mountain encased in red and fur. Tenzou presses his lips to a thin unimpressed line, points at the camera that Anko looks before the flash goes off.

“Move, Anko, you’re holding up the line,” Tenzou glowers.

“No snakey for me?” Anko asks again, wiggling her eyebrows and fingers.

“No!” Tenzou grumps, shooing her off his lap, flushing even redder when she laughs and laughs and laughs, sauntering away in her far-too-sexy gingerbread cookie costume, parts of her ass jiggling as he walks in dangerously high and spine-inducing-inflammation ruby red heels.

The next person to sit on his lap happens to be Gai. Gai who simply loops an arm around Tenzou’s shoulder, holds up a thumbs up at the camera and proceeds to recite a haiku that he had composed while waiting in line just for Tenzou.

“When going is blind, it’s natural swing finds no cleft, it hangs freely, gloriously but so far left!” Gai says, tears of _pride_ his eyes, his hand balled into an intense fist, as he thumps his chest once, twice in an act of absolute respect and salutation.

Tenzou isn’t sure what to make of the haiku.

Should he be flattered?

His dick is resting on his left leg.

What is Gai on about, _now_?

Before Tenzou can form words, Gai is patting him on the back and padding away in his candy cane jumpsuit to collect his printed photograph.

Tenzou gets asked all kinds of lewd things. He gets asked on a date exactly twelve times, each time him saying no, thank you; no, I’ll pass; no, I am quite attached, thank you _._ He gets asked for special favors. One shameless kunoichi actually asks him if he got dick done and if he can provide information on the medic that was responsible.

Someone had the audacity to ask if they can pet his snake.

Tenzou had zero problems shoving that guy off his lap and shooing him away with the tip of his boot.

Then, Kakashi plops down his lap, dressed in his jounin darks save for a colored snowman printed mask and a yellow cotton scarf knotted around his neck. Kakashi who simply takes one look at Tenzou’s tent peg, looks up at Tenzou and proceeds to laugh. Mouth open, breath blowing, _laugh_. At Tenzou’s face. Right in his ear. Complete with wheezes and whistling noises that is so unbecoming of the Rokudaime that Tenzou can only stare at his senpai with his most unimpressed face.

This goes on for about three minutes.

No one tells the Rokudaime to hurry up.

Not when he’s clearly trying to gather his faculties on Tenzou’s lap.

“Are you done?” Tenzou asks, his elbow on the arm rest, chin propped on that very same wrist, as he _glares_ at Kakashi who seems to think that he appreciates his stupid shochu-smelling breath.

Kakashi hiccups and manages to say, “No!”

And then proceeds to laugh for another three minutes, only this time, Kakashi begins to slap Tenzou repeatedly on the shoulder. Why can’t Kakashi slap his own thigh? Why does he have to slap Tenzou, the crettin!

“I hope you break a few ribs,” Tenzou grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“Did they – did they have to adjust the bikini? They had to didn’t they? That’s why you were late! And the lights! Oh the _lights_ , Tenzou! Is it motion-sensor? It’s genius!” Kakashi coughs behind a fist, turning his head away, brushing tears away from his eyes before pointedly looking at Tenzou’s champion. “Oh Tenzou, I am so proud of you. I had no idea you can dance quite like that! How _naughty!_ ”

“Are you done _now_?” Tenzou glowers.

“Tell me, did you practice with Iruka?” Kakashi _waggles_ his eyebrows like the pervert that he is. “Did he approve? Is he here? I hope he saw _all_ of it! If there is a video, I want a copy!”

“I hope you trip, senpai,” Tenzou says, meaning every word from the depths of his soul.

“Don’t be grumpy! You look great! You are the best Santa of the Night _ever_! I am really, really proud of you for your great display of penis showmanship—“

Tenzou _shoves_ Kakashi off his lap, Rokudaime or not, insubordination or not.

Which earns him another laugh and Kakashi simply plopping himself back down on his lap, throwing up a peace sign and getting his photograph taken. “You know,” Kakashi says in a low voice. “I never got to tell you but I am pleasantly surprised to know that you and Iruka are together. I didn’t think you’d ever move on.”

“You’re saying this like your throat injury was solely my fault,” Tenzou hisses. “I specifically remember you being quite enthusiastic about having a lot of meat in your—“

Kakashi flushes and begins to pet Tenzou on the head very roughly like he’s an unruly puppy, cutting him off completely. “Maa, maa, we should let bygones be bygones!”

“No, senpai, that was actually your fault—“

“You were so into it—“

“You were _drooling!_ ”

“—you couldn’t control the pace of your hips~“

Tenzou grabs Kakashi by his yellow scarf, looks him deep in his eyes and _glares_ with every ounce of irritability at Kakashi, who as usual, pressing all his buttons and challenging his already very delicate constitution. “Your eyes were rolled back like a damn porn star! What are you talking about?”

They never really talked about… _that_. Ever.

Of course, when the time to talk about it arises, it just had to be at the Torture and Interrogation annual party with Tenzou practically gallivanting around with little to almost no clothing. His lance of love may be covered and obscured from direct, actual view, but the way it swung left and right like the gargantuan meat loaf that it is. Kakashi had no sense of tact for these things. Uncaring. Ruthless, inconsiderate ruffian.

And now Kakashi is _leering_ , waggling his eyebrows suggestively, right in Tenzou’s face. “I’m sure Iruka does the same~”

Tenzou had no qualms planting his palm right in the middle of Kakashi’s face and shoving him backwards, the bastard just _laughing_ his ass off again, chortling and snorting, wheezing once more, good grief, how are Kakashi’s lungs mass producing such _noises?_

Kakashi thankfully backs down, taking one step backwards and waving his fingers at Tenzou like he’s got jazz hands, before cheekily saying, “You’re welcome, my cutest kouhai~”

Tenzou has to squash the urge to grab and lob one of the fake presents from beside his santa throne right at Kakashi’s stupid head.

*

Thank him, Kakashi says.

Thank him my foot, Tenzou thinks, because if he survives this night, he doubts his relationship will.

“No, it’s not plastic surgery. No, I don’t have a special medic. Yes, I am gifted. No, it’s not a fake cock extension. shut up, smile, take your photo and fuck off,” Tenzou repeats, over and over again, cutting through the chase and sparing himself any sort of additional questions to his blessings of heaven.

He’s only said it about two hundred times now, looking desperately at the line that doesn’t seem to end, coiling like a large snake, extending well beyond the premises and disappearing somewhere into the extending rooms where the buffet is being served.

Some had gone as far as skipping the amazing smelling buffet. Tenzou had seen a large turkey making it’s way to the table, and a roasted prime beef ribs and chuck. Tenzou’s stomach grumbles hungrily as he repeats the same litany and gives the person on his lap his scariest ghoul face, who thankfully, fidgets, awkwardly poses and scampers away.

This happens for the next fifty people, until Genma decides to plop his ass on Tenzou’s lap.

“What a big package you got there, santa,” Genma sing-songs.

“How original,” Tenzou deadpans; he’s only heard that line about seventy-two times. He counted.

“You know what, you had my respect before. But now, I’m debating giving you offerings. How the hell do you find the right underwear size?” Genma asked.

“You kidding me right now?” Tenzou _glares._

Unfortunately for him, Genma is made of tougher shit. “Serious question, man. Customized?”

“No, the regular ones fit just fine!” Tenzou answers, crossing his arms defensive over his pectorals.

“Do you tuck? I mean, Yamato, that’s really a lot…” Genma’s senbon bobs up and down once, something feral tugging at the corner of his lips.

“If you are quite finished—“ Tenzou begins, a flush painting all over his face.

Genma chuckles, faces the camera and smirks like the filthy asshole he is. Then again, that’s easily three quarters of the jounin population. “For what it’s worth, you do look good.”

Tenzou, for the life of him, couldn’t find it in himself to thank Genma. Instead, he turns his attention to the next person in line, who happens to be Ibiki. Ibiki who is balancing a plate of finger foods, sets the plate on one of the giant gift boxes, plops on Tenzou like his entire body is a chair, leaving Tenzou to peak out pathetically over a broad shoulder, eyes wide, strangling the grunt that he refuses to let out because Ibiki weighs a tone in muscle.

“Good job, Santa,” Ibiki says, picking up his champagne glass and plate. He pauses and then offers it to Tenzou.

Which Tenzou gratefully takes downs like a shot.

Ibiki smirks, taking the empty glass and tipping his chin at the line. “Almost there. You have about three hundred to go.”

“Do I have to do _all_ of them _?”_ Tenzou whines. He’s aware he’s whining to someone who is notorious for his torture techniques.

Ibiki simply clicks his tongue and turns, his red coat fluttering in the invisible breeze as he walks towards a group of people to engage in conversation about a magical manga series, judging from the movement of his lips.

Tenzou sighs _,_ resigning himself and swearing that this is the last and final time he’s ever, _ever_ going to go to a party that Iruka will convince him of attending while riding his bush whacker.

The next warm ass plops hitself on his lap, Tenzou opening his mouth to recite his litany but comes to a stop when the strong smell of whiskey assaults his nose from the glass that is being held right under his nose.

“Figured you’d need this,” Iruka says, looping one arm around Tenzou’s shoulders for balance while offering the glass.

Tenzou takes the glass, empties its contents, carelessly sets it aside and _embraces_ Iruka so tight, he’s sure his arms and hands would leave bruises on Iruka’s skin. Iruka grunts with it, gently petting Tenzou’s head through his santa hat. Tenzou embraces him like he hasn’t seen Iruka in years, like they’ve been sepaerted for far too long, missing him so suddenly, desperate to not let go of this solid, lovely smelling, sweet, warmth that he wishes would just stay on his lap forever. Tenzou would gladly become furniture for Iruka. He’d be anything for Iruka.

Just as long as Iruka doesn’t get up and leave him to the three hundred something perverts that refuses to leave the fucking line.

“Help me,” Tenzou _begs_ , eyes wide, looking like wet and kicked puppy, as he _clutches_ at Iruka’s frame, holding on to him desperately, maybe clawing at him a little bit. “Please help me!”

Iruka smiles gently, one hand coming down to cup Tenzou’s jaw. “You poor thing.”

“They picked my name! I didn’t want to be picked! I was waiting for you! Iruka, why did they pick my name?” Tenzou is aware that he may have been wheezing that question out too fast.

“That tends to happen in a picking-a-name-out-of-a-hat situation,” Iruka gently consoles.

“But I don’t want to be santa!” Tenzou hisses.

“I think you’re a handsome santa~” Iruka says, flushing a little bit, looking illegally cute as he traces fingers down the curve of Tenzou’s jaw. “The most handsome~ The absolute best~”

“I don’t want to feel more of Konoha’s ass on my lap,” Tenzou confesses, shaking his head. “I only want your ass on my lap! Please make them disappear!”

“Okay~” Iruka says, smiling gently, almost innocently, nodding.

Nothing prepares Tenzou, however, for what Iruka was about to do.

Iruka leans over, cups Tenzou’s cheek and promptly slants his mouth over Tenzou, his tongue darting out and prying Tenzou’s mouth open gently. The gasp that leaves Tenzou makes his lips part and Iruka takes advantage of that opening, deepening their kiss and adjusting his grip on Tenzou’s head, fingers snaking under the hem of his santa hat and grasping Tenzou’s head to angle it just _so_ , fingers tight in Tenzou’s hair. Tenzou can’t stop the hiss, can’t stop his world from dimming and lulling to a hush, the roaring shocked noise of the crowd waiting in line and on lookers fading to nothing as Tenzou easily loses himself in the heat of Iruka’s lips, teeth and tongue. Somewhere in their shared kiss, Iruka wraps both arms around Tenzou’s shoulders, while Tenzou easily loops his around Iruka’s middle, one hand cupping his red and green striped clad thigh and squeezing the curve of his ass.

Before Tenzou realizes what he’s doing and quickly pulls back and stares at the dangerously wild, wide _grin_ on Iruka’s face.

That _look_ goes straight to Tenzou’s cock.

“I can’t stop you from doing what you want to do from this point on, I leave that to you. But, I’ll tell you this.” Iruka tilts his head to one side, giving Tenzou a very, _very_ pointed look that does help in calming the fire that has somehow ignited in Tenzou’s veins. “When you take your ass home tonight, you are going to dance for me. You are going to shake your ass for _me_. And if you do it well, I’ll tip you; I’ve got the money ready. And when I’m done enjoying the way you move your body and objectifying you like the little man whore that you are, I am going to fuck you. On your hands and knees. And you’re going to say yes and welcome my cock. Sounds good?”

Tenzou _swallows_ dryly, staring up at lust blown wide pupils of Iruka’s eyes. He had not expected that command to roll past Iruka’s lips with ease.

“Crystal,” Tenzou _breathes_ , blinking rapidly before clearing his throat, willing his blush to go away.

“Good. Kiss me again,” Iruka tartly demands, words barely above a whisper. “Remind these people who you belong to.”

Tenzou doesn’t waste half a breath more before he leans up and proceeds to kiss Iruka, promptly showing everyone, indeed, just who he belongs to. The world around them can burn and Tenzou wouldn’t care, as he rakes his fingers down the length of Iruka’s back, his cock twitching when Iruka shudders as his fingers grazes over the thick scar on his back.

They part for breath, looking into each other, ignoring the noise of protest and some of the dejected, disappointed individuals finally leaving the line for the buffet table. Tenzou watches as Iruka looks a little over his shoulder with a scowl, something ugly marring his features before he turns back to look at Tenzou with a grin, dimples dotting his cheeks. Tenzou realizes what Iruka is doing a little too late. Iruka has been in line this entire time. Surely, Iruka would have had to listen to people talking about his custom’s officer, his grandeur thickness and length. Surely, Iruka would have had to remain proper and diplomatic, unable to quite slap people across the face because assault is frowned upon.

Iruka suddenly kissing him so openly, so deeply, so passionately in public – Tenzou blinks.

And can’t stop his grin from splitting his face.

Iruka staking his claim is probably one of the hottest, sexiest thing he’s ever seen.

Which then brings another problem.

Iruka is about to get up but Tenzou yanks him back down, shaking his head for a different reason in alarm. Because right there, in the middle of his legs, is the biggest hard on Konoha as ever seen, something that Iruka casually takes care off by adjusting and ‘arranging’ Tenzou’s santa coat, throwing more fabric over his warrior, flushing to the roots of his hair.

“You can’t get up,” Tenzou panics. “You can’t!”

“I’m aware.” Iruka reaches up and just casually arranges the santa hat on Tenzou's head.

“My dick is hard!” Tenzou asphyxiates, promptly going into some sort of cardia arrest and liver failure simultaneously. The panic does nothing to make his hard fuck puppet calm the hell down. Gods, his cock sure is an annoying little shit.

“I can see that.” Iruka calmly responds, like he’s reading something out of a textbook. How is Iruka so calm?!

“Why did you have to kiss me so sexily?” Tenzou _whines_.

“Because you’re mine,” Iruka simply says, something dark and heated crossing his gaze. Like Tenzou and his ass miner is something to be owned. To stake a claim on. Gods, how is Iruka so hot right now? Does he have any idea how illegal he's being? Breaking all these laws with his pretty mouth and pretty face? “And people seem to forget that.”

“But what am I going to do?” Tenzou _begs_.

“You’re going to pick me up, carry me in your arms while I shunshin us out of here.” Iruka places one arm around Tenzou’s shoulder.

“But Ibiki—“

“Will live. On three.” Iruka presses a kiss on Tenzou’s cheek, long, and exaggeratedly loud. “One, two three.”

Tenzou grabs Iruka, picks him up like a bride and scrunches his eye shut as the swirl of chakra smoke engulfs them, the mob cries of protest disappearing to nothing before finally going mute when they land in the middle of Tenzou’s living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this, let me know! Thank you for reading!


	3. You know I'm tasty like a candy cane or gingerbread, I’m made with love~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta’d.
> 
> Warning: objectifying role play ahead

They land in the living room, Tenzou’s knees bracing fo the impact of suddenly dropping down on the ground, as he distributes his weight by standing feet apart, core tightened, fingers remaining secure on Iruka’s shoulders and knees. The smell of his apartment, the sudden  _ quiet _ makes Tenzou with a level of relief that he would have also expressed if he had managed to get away from being pursued. 

Carefully he sets Iruka down. And then takes a moment, as he steps away from his lover to admire the costume.

“Let me look at you,” Tenzou’s says, now unabashed in his costume, as he watches Iruka hold his arms out, giving Iruka a bit of a spin and cheekily sticking his ass out. There’s a bit of a salient gleam in Iruka’s eyes, pupils blown wide as he starts to make his way towards the sofa, slow step by step, taking his time, before he sits himself down in a lazy sprawl on the sofa. Gods, okay, those tights are sinful around Iruka’s legs. It’s probably a good thing, Tenzou thinks, that Iruka is gone from that party. “You look good.”

“I should be the one saying that.” Iruka waves a hand at Tenzou’s state of dress. Or undress in this case. “Come on. Give us a spin.”

Flushing to the roots of his hair, Tenzou clears his throat behind a fist. Feeling a little awkward and just a touch embarrassed, he turns around on his vinyl boots, spreading his arms a little bit, the length of the Santa jacket parting obscenely to show every inch of his body, something that Iruka stares at, his gaze caressing Tenzou’s body like a warm, heated brush. It makes the drum of Tenzou’s heartbeat race under his rib cage, as he sticks his arm under the Santa jacket, brushing it aside to show the exposed globes of his ass, his teeth working his lower lip that he only releases when he completes his spin. He stands on parade rest, right there, in the middle of his living room, the coffee table between him and Iruka as he waits, with excitement, nervousness, his cock swelling even more, his balls now heavy with arousal, as Iruka pointedly stares at his bacon loaf encased in red and lined with fake white fur. 

“D-Do you want a drink, maybe?” Tenzou offers, because Iruka isn’t talking. He’s too quiet.

“I’d love a drink,” Iruka says, one dimple winking in Tenzou’s direction. 

Swallowing past the sudden barren desert in his throat, Tenzou once more clears his throat as he pads for the kitchen. There are days where Iruka would spend the weekend over if Tenzou isn’t out on a mission. His fridge and cabinet isn’t as barren as it used to be when he had been unattached. He keeps beer in the fridge now, along with more condiments and non-perishables for Iruka to cook with if he is staying the night. He also has taken to keeping sake and shochu for nights when Iruka would prepare something rich for them to partake on - like seared salmon or like that one time, when Iruka had prepared over roasted beef. Tenzou debates between sake and shochu, when he remembers the bottle of whiskey in his cupboard. 

He takes that out, foregoing the sake and shochu. He fills two glasses with ice and pours them both two fingers of whiskey. He is about to carry both glasses back to the living room when he thinks, well, they are role playing a little bit aren’t they? If Iruka is serious about fucking him, objectifying him, something that makes his cock twitch in his bikini-jockstrap, then he might as well go the extra mile right? 

Tenzou fusses in the kitchen and finds the only tray he owns. He places both glasses and the whiskey bottle along with a small bowl of ice on it, carrying it all towards the coffee table where he - as his ears turns an interesting shade of crimson - bends over, his ass right in Iruka’s clear view, as he sets the tray down. Iruka’s eyes follows him attentively, raking down Tenzou’s thighs, his head tilting just  _ so _ , like he’s debating the quality of the wares on display.

Something about that look, how vainglorious it is, makes Tenzou’s stomach swoop inwards in excitement that he doesn’t think he’s ever quite felt before. 

“Here,” Tenzou murmurs, holding out a glass of whiskey in offering.

“Thank you,” Iruka says, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a slow sip, his eyes not leaving Tenzou for a second. “Vinyl boots look good on you.”

Tenzou isn’t quite sure how to respond to that. His cock, however, seems well versed. An interesting amount of pre-cum decides to come out then, darkening a patch on his bikini-jockey strap. Fucking ham bone. It really is rather shameless isn’t it? Iruka really should revise the name,  _ the prince _ . No prince is this repressed.

“I’m glad you like it?” Tenzou says, rubbing the back of his head. “I uh - I didn’t want to put any of this on, to be honest…”

“It lights up doesn’t it?” Iruka says, tipping the rim of his glass at Tenzou’s cock. “Show me.”

The words come out like a command, even if it is soft, polite, proper even. 

It makes Tenzou’s throat tighten once more, as he looks at his crotch. How does he even make it light up? How does he even demonstrate the mechanism? He had been hip thrusting to the point of risking a slip disk earlier. There had been music to follow some sort of rhythm as well. Iruka is drinking his whiskey, patient, head tilted in attention, waiting. 

Patient.

Unsure of what to do, Tenzou places his hands on his hips, and then, feeling like an utter fool, he sort of tries to mimic the moves earlier by dropping down to a bit of a crouch and rotating his hips. 

The light blinks in blue then green, for just a moment before Tenzou flushes and brings a hand to cover his face.

“Sorry, uh, I mean, there was Nara, doing most of the dancing and I — “

“Don’t be shy,” Iruka says, kind, sweet, the words just a touch sharp. “Here, let me guide you.”

Iruka sets the glass down, and gets on his feet, Tenzou watching helplessly as Iruka comes to stand behind him, his warm chest pressing on Tenzou’s back, soft, gentle hands coming to rest on Tenzou’s hips, where he steadies it, holds it in place. Tenzou’s breath hitches in his throat when he feels Iruka’s hard on press against his ass, full, heavy, the front of his tights just a little damp too, good  _ gods _ . Ever so gently, Iruka starts to guide Tenzou’s hips, swaying it sensually side to side, his chin tipped upwards and resting just a bit on Tenzou’s shoulder. Iruka presses his lips to Tenzou’s ears, where he starts a steady count, one, two, one, two, left, right, left right. Tenzou’s ass are firmly rubbing against Iruka’s cock,  _ grinding _ into it, as Iruka continues to count steadily, rolling his hips with Tenzou.

Tenzou forgets, for just a second, as his eyes slides shut, his hands coming to rest on Iruka’s hands, as he follows Iruka’s guiding movement, rolling his hips to a silent tune, following the sound of Iruka’s voice. His cock lights up in the a kaleidoscope of flashing lights, green, blue, gold and red, flashing and running along the throbbing bob of his arousal as Iruka slowly steps back, coming around to stand in front of Tenzou, his lips pulled to a roguish grin, as he takes Tenzou’s hand in his.

“D-Do you like it?” Tenzou asks, his face as hot as a raging forest fire, as he continues to move roll his hips left and right, parting his legs just a little wider, daring to go a little lower.

“Why don’t you slowly pull your jacket off, keep your hips moving,” Iruka suggests, taking a step back, their fingers sliding off each other as Tenzou obeys. He grabs the hem of his Santa jacket, slowly sliding it off the curve of his shoulders, allowing the fabric to bunch around his elbows. “That’s it, keep it moving, just like that…”

Tenzou swallows, the Santa jacket gliding effortlessly past his wrists, pooling to the ground by the heel of his boot, leaving him bare and open, as his cock twitches in the confines of his bikin-jockstrap. 

Iruka takes another step back and another, reaching up to peel his elf tunic off, undoing the glitter buttons, letting it hang open as he exposes his chest, his stomach, his abs flexing. 

Tenzou brings his hands to flatten on his abdomen running up and down slowly, trying to find some sort of sensual pace as he touches himself, calloused hands going over old scars, over too warm skin, fingers brushing over his hard nipples, as his hips continue to sway side to side in a silent rhythm known to only him and Iruka. Biting his lower lip, he watches Iruka’s lips twist up to a bit of an approving smirk. It makes Tenzou’s blood burn hot inch is veins, knowing that he has earned the expression on Iruka’s face, that he’s actually doing something fucking right this evening that isn’t humiliating.

No. This is exciting.

He wants that smirk on Iruka’s face to wide. He wants to see Iruka flash teeth, make both dimples wink in his direction.

Chewing on his lower lip some more, Tenzou flicks at his own nipples, something that sends a shock of pleasure down his spine, making goosebumps break all over the length of his back. He does it again, and again, taking the nubs between his fingers, as he  _ pinches, _ the gesture making him grunt, just jaw grinding, as he watches Iruka take a few more steps back and slowly lower himself on the sofa.

Licking his dry lips, Tenzou continues to tease his nipples, trying to imagine that they’re Iruka’s fingers instead, rolling the hard nub under his index fingers, not once stopping the sensual roll of his hips.

Iruka takes a sip of his whiskey, sitting there spread on the sofa, uncaring that his arousal is straining for the ceiling, confined under striped tights that really has no business being worn in public. At all.

And then Iruka pulls out a hundred ryo bill from his elf tunic, holding it out towards Tenzou, right there between his middle and index finger. Like a tip. 

The bill flutters to the ground, right there by Iruka’s feet. 

Fuck.

Tenzou swallows, taking a step forward, one foot in front of the other before he slowly lowers himself to the ground, where there, by Iruka’s feet as he picks up the bill, he starts slowly thrusting his hips up and down, up and down, one hand flat on the floor. That seems to make the smirk on Iruka’s lips drag just a touch wider, barely even a centimeter, lopsided and cheeky.

“Thank you,” Tenzou says, as he takes the bill and because that’s what strippers do, he rolls it and tucks it over the waistband over his jock-strap bikini.

“Shut your mouth and roll your hips,” Iruka says, an eyebrow cocked as he takes another pointed sip from his whiskey.

Chastised, Tenzou clamps his jaw shut, something welling in his throat, partial excitement, partial humiliation, the flush on his cheeks darkening once more as he obeys. He rolls his hips, legs parting wider and wider, as he bobs up and down to that silent rhythm, his balls brushing against the floor just  _ so _ . His cock is painfully hard now, the dark wet patch on the red fabric now bigger, wet, sticky in its confines, as he brings his hand to rest on the edge of the sofa between Iruka’s legs, one hand coming up towards his nipple, brushing over it, flicking his finger over it, rolling the hard nub.

Tenzou’s knuckles are white as he grips the edge of the couch, chewing on his lower lip as he swallows another groan at the base of his throat, his gaze tilted upwards, holding Iruka’s dark gaze, watching his lover take another sip from his glass, until he drains the contents and holds his glass out towards at Tenzou, shaking the ice within in silent command to be poured another drink.

Tenzou obeys. Of course he fucking obeys. Like a fucking dog, he obeys.

He momentarily pauses the sensual roll of his hips, reaching to the side on the coffee table, where he grabs the bottle of whiskey by the neck, twisting the cap open with thumb. It clatters somewhere on the ground, rolling under the couch, as Tenzou pours Iruka his drink, exactly two fingers, not more. Iruka says nothing, doesn’t even thank him as he brings the glass back to his lips, leaving Tenzou to set the bottle back down on the tray.

“You must be thirsty,” Iruka glibly suggests, but makes no movement to offer Tenzou a drink. “Go on.”

That go on is punctuated by Iruka parting his legs wider, his arousal now a large bulge between his legs in silent offering.

The flush crawls down Tenzou’s neck, spreading over his chest as he understands what he must do. Swallowing, he reaches forward with visibly trembling fingers, hooking his fingers over the waistband of Iruka’s tights, ever so carefully and slowly, tugging it down except Iruka shakes his head. 

“There’s enough precum on the fabric, isn’t there, Taichou?” Iruka suggests, pulling out another hundred ryo bill from his pocket. He rolls it with one hand, before he leans forward, his lips just grazing over Tenzou’s ear, as he tucks the bill into Tenzou’s waistband. “Wouldn’t want to waste that, now would we?”

The little shit.

Fine.

_ Fine. _

Tenzou exhales deeply from his nose, watching as Iruka moves to lean back on sofa’s backrest, Tenzou’s icing bag giving a bit of an eager twitch in its furlined confines. 

Resolutely unclenching his jaw, Tenzou’s ever so slowly leans forward, parting his lip to press his tongue against the patch of pre-cum that is now a dark and large patch on Iruka’s tights. The ribald flavor makes Tenzou exhale deeply, his lips circling over damp fabric to take some of Iruka’s cock in his mouth, his breath coming out in hot puffs as he tentatively places the palms of his hands over Iruka’s inner thighs for purchase.

It’s a little awkward.

A little hard.

But that sharp taste at the tip of Tenzou’s tongue makes him lap up at the fabric, trying to catch more of  _ Iruka _ at the tip of his tongue, sucking out the taste of his lover, greedy, desperate. It makes saliva trickle past Tenzou’s tongue and onto Iruka’s tights, as he traces the hard length, chasing that taste as much as he can, swallowing and breathing around Iruka’s tights clad cock, his eyebrows drawing downwards in utter concentration. He finds the swollen head, circles his lips hungrily around it and there, right there, the taste is at it’s sharpest. It coats Tenzou’s tongue completely, his eyes sliding shut as he works his mouth around Iruka’s cock, humming at the back of his throat, swallowing what he can, applying pressure and fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ , he wants to rip those fucking tights wide open. He wants to sink his fingers into the flimsy weave, get his nails in there and drag it down, watch it part down the length of its stitched seams until it gives away completely.

Iruka’s hand is suddenly in Tenzou’s hair, carding through it, gentle, almost rewarding, making Tenzou hum ever so softly, pleased under Iruka’s touch, his lips once more wrapping around the head of Iruka’s clothed cock.

“Good boy,” Iruka says, the name making Tenzou grit his teeth, nose pushing into Iruka’s groin, inhaling the scent of him, as his jaw parts wider for breath. “That’s it, just like that — you like that don’t you?”

_ Gods _ , he’s tempted to rip those tights.

But then Iruka is gripping Tenzou by his hair, yanking his head back and away from his cock, exposing Tenzou’s throat far too openly, vulnerably, exposing his throat to the air in a way that makes everything in Tenzou seize up, his fingers  _ clenching _ at Iruka’s thighs in warning. Tenzou has to tell himself to  _ not _ yank Iruka’s hands off his head. He has to tell himself that this is not an attack, that he is not at risk to having his throat slit open. 

He remains kneeling there, pliant, breathing through his nose because he is an object. An object to be used as Iruka sees fit for the evening. He’s been fucking paid for goodness sakes.

Iruka takes a sip of his whiskey, releasing his hold on Tenzou’s hair for just a moment, dragging warm, smooth fingers down the curve of Tenzou’s jaw, where it grips him by the saliva and precum glistening chin. 

“You’re so hot,” Iruka says, his head tilting. “So, so fucking hot…”

Tenzou swallows, his nostrils flaring once as he tells himself to calm down, tells himself to accept this praise. His bacon loaf seems to be doing a better job at accepting the lurid praise, because it twitches once more in eagerness, in hunger, in his bikini jockstrap, making Tenzou swallow around his throat as he resolutely refuses to lower his gaze. 

Hesitantly, he starts rolling his hips again, leaning back just a little bit as Iruka stands on his feet, holding his glass out towards the sofa. Iruka doesn’t use words, but motions with his hand instead, gesturing for Tenzou to get on the couch.

Which he does, his knees slightly bruised from supporting his weight this entire time.

Tenzou fluidly relocates himself to the sofa, hesitantly slouching, parting his legs wide to give Iruka the view he wants, to study him with that concentrated dark gaze that is making his head spin with arousal at an alarming rate. Tenzou isn’t sure if he’s dizzy from anticipation or from arousal or from humiliation. 

What he does understand however is that Iruka wants a show.

Iruka is delivering his promise of wanting to objectify Tenzou after that ridiculous dance number. Iruka wants to  _ enjoy _ this moment of having Tenzou dressed in lack-of-clothing that he would never,  _ ever _ willingly put on. Clearly, Iruka is enjoying the sight of his body in this bikini-jockstrap. Tenzou has two hundred ryos tucked into his waistband that can attest to that.

And Iruka isn’t the kind to fuck around with his budget — honestly, why are teachers so underpaid?

Iruka setting his glass down makes Tenzou focus, makes him spread his legs in a way that he wouldn’t do so unless he’s got cock coming his way. The last time he had his legs this wide open was easily years ago, back when Kakashi had still been ANBU, a little after the whole throat injury fiasco. Kakashi had him spread so wide as he pummeled into his ass that Tenzou had to increase the amount of hamstring and sciatica band stretching he had to do after just to recover from it. And mostly, it was because Kakashi had him pinned in place like that.

Yet here he is, holding his own legs just as wide open, knees bent, boot heel braced on the edge of the sofa, his hands coming to rest on his chest and abdomen, touching himself, tracing the lines of his abdominal muscles with his fingers, while Iruka remains a looming shadow above him, looking down at him like he’s a mere plaything. Which he is. Who is Tenzou kidding at this point? 

Tenzou feels cheap.

He truly feels objectified, being on the receiving end of Iruka’s dark gaze like this.

It makes the flush heat up once more, all around his cheeks and neck, painting all over Tenzou’s body as he swallows, fingers gingerly approaching his cock, the tips of his index and middle finger catching some of the pre-cum, hot and sticky, copious in amount now as it pools over Tenzou’s navel.

Iruka  _ smirks _ at that, something that makes Tenzou’s entire body clench. He watches as Iruka’s gaze travels to the parted globes of his ass, where there, his asshole clenches over nothing, spasming with an eagerness to be breached that makes turn his head away —  _ gods _ , Iruka isn’t saying anything. When he’s normally so mouthy, can brandish filthy honeyed words that can make a man tremble. But now, Iruka is silent, almost mute, save for the dark of his gaze, the almost mocking twitch of his lips and Tenzou, well, he wants it.

He wants that smirk to grow even wider.

A touch apprehensive, Tenzou spreads his legs wider, feeling like Konoha’s biggest pervert, watching as Iruka empties his glass and sets it down, his fingers coming up from his tunic pocket where there, in his hand is a small tube of lube. 

“When I’m done with you, you’ll probably only want cock for a while,” Iruka says, his words whisper soft, as he comes to kneel in the small space between Tenzou’s legs, precariously balancing, his entire core braced to keep him there, the back of his feet seeking purchase over the coffee table. The angle of it, the way Iruka makes it seem uncomfortable for himself, bracing himself in a position that requires concentration — well, it seems Tenzou isn’t the only one that is eager if one is willing to go through such feats. Iruka can simply just man handle him, make Tenzou pillow his back on the arm rest. But no. 

“Will I?” Tenzou asks, gravel in his voice.

“Oh yes,” Iruka says, silkily, honeyed syllables rolling off his tongue. “It’s all you’ll think about, maybe. My cock in your ass. Fucking you. Spreading you.” Iruka uncaps the lube, carefully spreading a generous amount between his fingers as one hand pulls the bikini string between Tenzou’s ass to the side, clearing the way to his asshole. “Filling you with flesh. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure it burns for the duration of the week. So you can stand next to your senpai, your Hokage, and  _ feel _ it with every breath. My cock in your ass, that is…”

“Oh…” Tenzou’s breath hitches, as the cold gel spreads over his eagerly spasming asshole, well would you look at that? Not only is his creamy kalashnikov twitching in anticipation, it’s apparently made a friend. His ass spasms eagerly, hungrily, right there over Iruka’s ever so gentle penetrating fingernail, attempting to pull that entire finger in, just as his one eyed monster gives another eager twitch at that ever so small intrusion. 

“I won’t touch your cock,” Iruka says, his eyebrows raising in challenge, pausing for a moment, watching Tenzou’s face as that remark is delivered. Tenzou can only swallow because well, he wants his cock to be touched. “You’ll come only because your ass is so full. And you’ll be eager for more. Your cock has been spoiled rotten, don’t you think? These past five months? It can do with nothing for now…”

That’s not true, Tenzou thinks, as his fingers tighten on the sofa cushions. He always wants to feel iruka around his cock. Iruka’s hands. Iruka’s mouth. Iruka’s ass. He always wants Iruka on his cock. Like a greedy little sausage gremlin his monster of a jerk dick he is. 

“I — you know I always want you,” Tenzou reasons only to realize he sounds a little pathetically needy. 

“I know,” Iruka agrees, shrugging a shoulder. “But I don’t have to listen to you do I?”

That pertinent mouth is going to be the death of him, Tenzou swears. One day, he’s going to have an aneurysm and just drop dead just because of Iruka’s dangerous mouth. Iruka never listens to him. Not really. Not when it comes to sex anyway. Which is something Tenzou utterly loves about him, adores about him. Countless times, now that he thinks about it, Iruka would make Tenzou think he’s got the upper hand, that he is truly in command of the situation, only to realize that Iruka had Tenzou doing his bidding, catering to his every whim whether it is Tenzou fucking Iruka up against the wall of their shower, the door, or against the he head board suspended in vines of mokuton, it is always Iruka getting exactly how he wants, what he wants. Tenzou usually would only realize days later if he really thinks about it. Most of the time, he doesn’t because whatever for? Why would he bother when he’s having, quite frankly, the time of his life? The sex of his life?

Which brings him to the present; why would this be any different?

The last time tenzou had a dick up his ass would be over a year ago. Maybe more. He can’t recall only that it had been Kakashi. Forever ago.

Now, as Iruka pushes another finger in, Tenzou has the sinking feeling that he’s not going to last that long. That by the time Iruka is done stretching him, prepping him, he would come Iike a needy little prepubescent virgin boy who has been touched for the very first time. 

Tenzou  _ inhales _ sharply, when Iruka switches from being gentle with his fingers to suddenly rough, shoving two fingers into his body all of a sudden, forcing the tight ring of muscle to part, fingers scissoring and curling and  _ \- oh _ .

Tenzou  _ hisses _ through his teeth, his thighs quaking when Iruka finds his prostate, when the pads of Iruka’s fingers just  _ presses _ against that soft bundle of tissue, making Tenzou bite down against his lower lip  _ hard _ , just to keep himself quiet out of ingrained training and habit. 

Iruka is grinning like he is the devil himself.

Vaingloriously handsome.

Beautiful.

Gods, Iruka can do whatever the fuck he wants with Tenzou’s body and he’d frankly not giving a flying fuck, as long as Iruka doesn’t damn well stop and continues to objectify him.

“Oh? Already?” Iruka asks, mocking Tenzou’s pleasure. Before Tenzou can react to it, Iruka presses into him again, rubbing his fingers against that soft bundle of tissue, making Tenzou part his lips in a breath that is far too loud. Too fucking loud he might as well yell at the top of his lungs and give away his position to the enemy. “When was the last time you had cock in your ass Tenzou?”

“Long ago,” Tenzou grunts, swallowing and reaching behind his head to grab at the sofa backrest. “Senpai was…”

“Hokage-sama?” Iruka pushes a third finger in, slick and easy, stretching Tenzou further. 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Tenzou exhales, trying to clear his muddled vision, shaking his head against the sofa’s back rest and cushion, trying to fucking concentrate. 

“Well I can’t compete with that, I am sure,” Iruka says, and then retracts his fingers all together, leaving Tenzou suddenly devoid of anything, so, so empty that he shamelessly  _ moans _ . 

Then flushes in embarrassment.

Did that sound just leave his throat?

What is he? A corner street  _ whore _ ?

“There is no competition,” Tenzou  _ gasps,  _ quickly bringing a hand to his mouth, clamping it over his lips. Something that Iruka wrenches away with brute force, making Tenzou’s jaw lock tight as he stares up at Iruka looking down at him with an unreadable expression. “He can try but he’s not  _ you _ .”

“Is that so?” It comes out unimpressed. “I should pay you for that, shouldn’t I?” 

What?

Tenzou watches as Iruka pulls out another hundred ryo bill and with a bit of disdained flourish, tosses the bill at Tenzou, letting it flutter down to Tenzou’s chest.

Something about that makes everything in Tenzou seize up.

“Iruka—“

“Fuck yourself on your fingers. I want to watch you come. Don’t dawdle. I might lose my patience and honestly, just go home. So get to work,” Iruka says, shrugging and picking up Tenzou’s glass of untouched watered down whiskey now, at this point. 

Tenzou is discombobulated, unsure of what just hit him.

It wraps an invisible collar around his neck, as he carefully lowers his legs and tries to find a comfortable position on the sofa, his eyes following Iruka who takes. a seat in the single seater, tucking a foot under him as he takes a languid sip of his drink. Tenzou takes a moment to too long, doing the exact thing that Iruka asked him  _ not _ to do. He dawdles in his shock, scrambling on shaking limbs as he pillows his head by the cushions on the arm rest, hooking one boot heel over the sofa’s backrest, while he finds a comfortable arch of his hips, the hell of his other boot just barely touching the curve of his ass from hits folded position on the sofa.

Like this Tenzou reaches down, his now lubricated fingers from the lube around his ass carefully pushing into the he tight ring of muscle, trying to find a comfortable angle, trying to figure out where that —  _ oh _ . 

_ Oh! _

Tenzou shudders, forearm tightening at the odd angle, something he registers at the back of his mind to work on more flexibility calisthenics, maybe add more to it in his daily training routine.

He pushes another finger it, spreading himself wider, his eyes sliding close as he tries to imagine that it’s Iruka’s fingers in him, warm and steady, strong. Always strong. He imagines Iruka’s mouth on his, Iruka kissing down the length of his neck, over the curve of his Adam’s apple, as he scissors his fingers and begin ot thrust his fingers in and out of himself, a steady pace. Tenzou  _ grinds _ his jaw, as he imagines the scent of orange and cinnamon oil that Iruka would rub at the tips of ends of his hair, a wonderful heady scent, filling his lungs, as he imagines Iruka telling him what a good boy he is, how hot he is, how  _ big _ and  _ tight _ he is because gods, he’s tight. He’s so fucking tight and —  _ fuck _ .

Tenzou pushes a third finger in, spreading his legs wider, arching his hips in the air, fucking himself wiht a desperatation that makes him roll his hips down onto his own fingers, white stars appearing in the sea of black behind his scrunched eyelids as he thinks of Iruka, his hard cock in his ass, pushing in, rubbing against his prostate, spreading him wider, and wider, tearing him open, fuck, fuck, fuck — 

Tenzou doesn’t realize he’s coming until he registers the sound of Iruka’s name reaching the ringing in his ears, loud and clear, making him stare up at the ceiling in shock and maybe just a little embarrassed horror at how he had come so fast.

Just like Iruka predicted.

The sound of his hoarse voice and desperate pants is too loud in his ears. A beacon to anyone who wants his throat slid wide open, bleeding into the earth.

Ashamed, Tenzou brings the back of his hand to his mouth, biting down on it, silencing himself, scrunching his eyelids as he pulls his fingers out of his ass roughly, slick fingers coming up to his face to hush the loud exhalations, to silence himself, his trembling legs clamping shut like all of a sudden,

Iruka is laughing.

Oh gods, Iruka is fucking laughing, head thrown back, glass empty.

Iruka who stands and sets his empty glass down, roughly slapping the side of Tenzou’s trembling leg, kneeling at the end of the sofa and nudging Tenzou’s legs open roughly once more.

Tenzou has to brace himself on the arm rest, when Iruka all but  _ yanks _ him downwards, picks him up by grabbing him by neck and shoves him down once more to his original position earlier, propped and spread by the sofa backrest, spread wide open while tenzou tells himself to steady, steady, just be steady, and not grab Iruka’s and around his neck and twist it, bring his forearm down and snap bone, make it tear through the flesh of Iruka’s arm.

Tenzou sits there, slouched and spread, flushed to the roots of his hair, his breath coming out harsh, as he watches Iruka loom above him, still laughing, cooling cum all over his chest, while Iruka squeezes more lube into his fingers. 

He wants to ask what’s so funny, what can possibly be humorous about any of this, as Tenzou rides out the last of his orgasm, his trembling legs finally steadying. 

“That was fast,” Iruka says, laugh finally ceasing, and in its place, is a bit of a bemused smile. “I mean, I figured but, well… not  _ that _ fast.” 

Tenzou  _ flushes _ even more, so terribly ashamed of himself.

Iruka’s gentle hands on his knees is almost a balm to his ego, until, that is, Iruka hitches and manhandles Tenzou, flattening him on the sofa, legs fully dangling on edge were Iruka braces his grip under Tenzou’s knee caps and in a fluid almost rough movement, pushes his cock into Tenzou’s ass without warning.

It  _ tears _ something out of Tenzou’s throat.

Deafeningly loud.

Keening.

Hoarse.

It makes Tenzou hands scramble upwards, clamping over his mouth, something that Iruka tuts over, shaking his head. “Ah, ah, ah, no, take it down. Take your hands down, Tenzou.  _ Now _ .”

Tenzou  _ grinds _ his teeth but obeys, snarling at the ceiling as he tries to swallow whatever the fuck that was, fingers coming to grip the sofa’s backrest, as his ass spasms around Iruka’s cock and oh gods, oh gods, Tenzou’s cock gives an attentive twitch. Not quite hardening but it fucking twitches like the horribly cheap, sold on sale spam javelin that it is. Tenzou turns his head away, face awash with humiliation, his blood rack in hi veins as Iruka thrusts into his body once, twice, rocking him into the wedge of the sofa, making him bite his lower lip, riding out that short barely anything movement but gods,  _ oh gods _ does he feel every inch of Iruka’s cock. The length of it. The curve of it, the way Iruka is angled when he enters Tenzou’s body, the way he rolls his hips and  _ fuck _ , oh gods  _ fuck,  _ Tenzou’s sense of time warps, because he’s here, in this moment, Iruka in his body, fucking him, languid, slow, taking his time, stretching him, filling him with flesh.

And then he’shard again, his tent peg reaching for the ceiling, ruddy tipped and desperate, pre-cum draping down the glistening hard length.

“I like you,” Iruka says and tosses another hundred ryo bill over Tenzou’s cum smeared chest. “You work fast.”

_ Fuck! _

Tenzou  _ cries _ out at the ceiling, as Iruka starts to pound into his body, brutal, harsh, one hand reaching over the globe of Tenzou’s ass and  _ squeezing  _ so hard that it fucking  _ hurts _ . Tenzou  _ groans _ , eyes scrunching shut, riding this out, powerless to stop the noises leaching his mouth, ripping past his throat as Iruka pistons his cock in and out of him.

And then Iruka stops and pulls out, flipping Tenzou on his front, grabbing Tenzou’s hands and placing it on the sofa’s backrest. Iruka is in him again, hands on both the curves of Tenzou’s ass, spreading him wide, parting the twin flesh roughly, obscenely, cock sliding in and out of him in a brutal pace that makes Tenzou grunt through gritted teeth with each deep thrust.

_ Oh shit, fuck _ ,  **_Iruka_ ** , Tenzou thinks, not realizing how it leaves his mouth, his entire world rocking as he watches his apartment shake in front of him with the brutality of Iruka’s pace. He watches, helplessly, just holding on as best as he can, as he is fucked in every meaning, out of his senses. He hangs there, listening to Iruka’s groans, as the first of Iruka’s cock continues to move in and out of him, long, strong fluid deep strokes, hitting his prostate every single time.

Iruka lifts one leg up, forcing Tenzou’s weight all on one knee, and oh  _ gods _ , that angles Iruka deeper, just when Tenzou thinks he can take anymore, their balls slapping against each other lewdly, slick and loud. Tenzou doesn’t realize how he’s breathing the syllables of Iruka’s garbled name, lost in the harsh exhalations that tears itself out of his nose and mouth, incorrigible, unrecognizable. He looks down and finds that whatever that remains of the jock-strap bikini on him is flash in red, blue, green and gold, as his balls and cock rocks the motion sensor, turning the decorative apparel to the very definition of a dilapidated disco stick,  _ oh my fucking gods _ , the flashing increases it’s speed, matching the rock of Iruka’s body against Tenzou, oh gods,  _ oh gods! _

Tenzou comes all of sudden, unprepared for the ferocity of it, cum splattering all over his sofa, just as Iruka’s unforgiving hands comes down sharply over his ass, once, twice, thrice, right there on each ass cheek, making Tenzou  _ grunt _ and forcibly swallow the cry that he  _ refuses _ to let out, making him choke on his breath instead, as Iruka’s hands continues to rain down on him, over and over again until his skin  _ burns _ .

Oh gods, he’s not going to be able to move without feeling any of  _ that _ .

Iruka is right.

He’s going to be feeling Iruka for the rest of the week while serving his post to the Hokage.

Oh  _ fuck _ .

And then Iruka is coming too, with a harsh cry to the ceiling, flooding Tenzou’s ass with cum, but not tall stopping in the jerk of his hips. Tenzou goes still, as he closes his eyes and feels the heat of Iruka’s orgasm trickle down his balls, down his thighs, searing skin in thick, viscous white, before Iruka pulls out, drops to his knees and pushes his tongue into Tenzou’s ass.

That makes Tenzou cry out in surprise, his forearm coming to brace on the sofa backrest, as he holds on and feels Iruka’s laugh reverberate from his ass all the way up his spine.

Iruka sucks the cum right out of him, lewd, filthy, his tongue tracing the cum tracks on Tenzou’s thighs, but not once coming anywhere near his balls.

Tenzou’s entire world spins again when Iruka flips him over, making him grunt as his back and sore ass hits the sofa, one wrist flopping on the arm rest and then, like he hasn’t been objectified enough, Iruka tosses a wad of fluttering ryo bills all over Tenzou.

Like it’s party confetti.

“Good boy,” Iruka  _ exhales _ , as he reaches down and picks up the whiskey bottle on the tray and takes a swig from it.

Tenzou can only stare, as hundreds of ryo bills come to a fluttering stop all over his body, and think _ , gods, he fucking adores his man _ .

*

They are sitting in the tub, Tenzou’s head pillowed on Iruka’s shoulder, their bodies surrounded by Iruka’s favorite bath soap, the smell of oranges thick and calming Tenzou’s buzzed senses, the warm water of the bath somehow soothing the ache in his back side.

They’re sipping on tea, Tenzou’s mug braced on the edge of the tub, while Iruka is sipping his. 

“I wonder how you’d look like in those boots,” Tenzou asks.

“I’m not sure I’d look as good as you,” Iruka says softly, bemusedly, bringing fingers to brush over Tenzou’s temple before he plants a gentle kiss over the warm, damp skin.

“I beg to differ,” Tenzou chuckles.

“Well I’m no handsome Santa, you are, my king,” Iruka says, grinning wildly. “Tell Ibiki you lost the boots.”

“No way,” Tenzou snorts.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of him. You outrank him,” Iruka chuckles.

“Do you want me to keep those boots?” Tenzou asks, turning to look up at Iruka.

“Well,  _ don’t you _ ?” Iruka returns, cocking an eyebrows, both dimples cheekily winking at Tenzou.

Well.

Tenzou thinks about that for a moment.

The bikini-jockstrap is beyond salvageable. After being covered in cum, and giving it a bit of a shake, the lights refused to function so that’s out of the question. But the boots… clearly, Iruka had liked the boots.

Tenzou swallows, humming, pillowing his cheek back on Iruka’s shoulder.

He tells himself to buy Ibiki a bottle of sparkling rose or something when he returns the Santa coat. Without the boots

Iruka’s cheeky smile makes the risk worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no words tbh. Hate it? Loved it? Let me know.
> 
> Top Iruka is an all out hot Iruka though.

**Author's Note:**

> Ibiki has CLASS. Just saying.


End file.
